Rise Of Pandora

Rise Of Pandora: XLVI. Hold Your Words

"The life of a Rare Man is best left rare."

-Atlas

XVIV. Stoic

Thick tears still gushed from his eyes with vigor. He took Atlas's words with esteem but he knew it would not be enough. That kind of loss represented the end. He knew he would never recover in totality, for the most important part of him withered away with the death of his wife. He simply humored Atlas's words, nodding his head aimlessly. He was a sheet of glass that had been shattered beyond repair, a mound of particles too fragmented to become whole again.

His red face was flushed with blood. He was burning up. Olympia's heat was beginning to brand his flesh. He pulled away from her quickly, thrusting her to the floor, once he smelled his own body cooking along with his clothing.

Realizing what she had done, her eyes widened and her posture was submissive. Her voice became lighter and her cheeks were rosy.

"I-I-I'm sorry," She cried, looking down at her hands.

Consumed by his livid emotions, his most hidden sentiments were ready to become excavated from his heart. He looked at the roasted skin of his hands. Grinding his teeth, he wanted to scream aloud with fury. He thought about it.

"Still yourself, Bessarian," Alastor commanded.

Alastor lept up and clasped his hands on Maddard's wounded hand, one below and one above. The aura around his hands cooled to a chilly bluish-purple. The sizzling of Maddard's hand was suffocated by the aura and gradually cooled down. The wound was still there but the pain had essentially subsided, although he could certainly feel the burning of his knuckles permeating across his hands.

He was more frustrated and lonely than he was upset. Truly, he did not feel any genuine animosity towards Olympia, in fact, he appreciated her eagerness to comfort him. He found this same attitude in his wife that he saw in Olympia. His body grew warm and his mind was thoroughly saccharine. He was sent adrift into the past. Warm memories, although slightly obscured by the thick blanket of grief, submerged his internal being, inundating his soul into a motley of feelings. Her beauteous aspect spiraled into the forefront, coming to him in flashes of beautiful autumn days they would embrace together, brief yet wondrous spring times where he and her wound roam the vastness of the wilderness, exploring the various freshly-warmed forests that comprise the Colossal Snowpeak Woods. Those days were heaven to him, an Elysium like experience for him.

He was still sparring with his feelings. Fighting the feelings of hatred, misery and, madness, yet understanding why the reason why they were there.

He then gauged how horrified and guilty she appeared. Her face was lined with terror and remorse. He looked around the room to shocked faces also fitted with guilt. He tingled with the thought that he could cause such a look to form on the face of such a loving creature as Olympia.

"I-I didn't mean to. I only wanted to help."

Maddard, holding his burned hand by the wrist, squinted. He pulled in three large breaths and let out a deep sigh that resonated within the room. He checked his rageful mindset and surrogated it with tranquility. Thinking beyond the past, he looked towards the future, putting away any emotions that would not contribute to their common goal. He suppressed his frown, and let on with a grin.

He was fueled by an unquenchable thirst for retribution. He wished nothing more than to see the Dakini, whatever they may be, crushed to oblivion. He cared nothing for family or companionship with this group, though he did not resent the idea. All that was flowing across his clouded psyche was what he lost and what he wanted to be destroyed. He only knew what was told to him about the Dakini, beyond that he knew nothing. But he wanted them exposed and he wanted them destroyed. That monstrous behemoth that stamped across the forest and upon his small home, those horrid airborne creatures that produced spine-chilling squawks, those abhorrent creatures armored in loathing and violence. But that man, that twisted conglomerate of abhorrence, inhumanity, detestation, and misery, was a unique evil all of his own. His body shook with the thought that a degenerate storm of enmity was allowed to live such a long life. How could the Gods allow this thing to live and continue his evil deeds for others who are far worse? He contemplated. Oh, how he wished to stare that abomination wrapped under human flesh suffer and struggle to draw his last dying breath. He wished a violent end for them all. To see them die out was his end goal. To watch them suffer would be his pleasure. How he abhorred them so. He held this task within his heart and claimed it to be his own.

"Thank you for the kindness you've shown me, Olympia. It means more to me than you will ever know. Thank you, Alastor. I lost myself."

"Hold your words. We understand, Bessarian. The human heart was not made to endure such catastrophes. We've lived countless centuries of attaining family and suffering the anguish of losing them. We know more than anyone how it feels to lose," Alastor infringed.

Still plagued by his deep misery, he conjured a forced smile that signified understanding upon his facet. Tears were still rushing from his eyes. He wanted retribution, but internally he felt so small and helpless, an insignificant nat caught between a conflict of beasts. Flashbacks of that armored beast of tormenting breadth stormed back into his. He recalled how towering the fiery creature was, how he could not even discern its head which was eclipsed by its immense torso, and he recalled the sheer magnitude that trailed behind its every footstep. It was unnerving. He never thought it possible for such an entity to exist beyond the realm of mental invention. Pondering the extremities was a digression almost. His mind lingered on it alone, leaving everything to blend into the shadows where dubiety lied in slumber.

He was thoroughly traumatized more than he originally believed. The urge to sleep had not even come to thought, he felt in a restless state of disturbance and revelation that the world of man he believed was not just man's. There were beings of outer powers always in existence with himself. It deeply unnerved him. He knew of the Rare Men as most of the continent did. He also heard the tales of Deathknights and Shadowbirds but never held them to the truth, only regarding them as legends saturated with exaggeration and historical inaccuracy. But beholding them before his very eyes, those beings of ultra malevolence, brought him to the pristine revelation that he had been living upon spurious seclusion of land surrounded by an endless expanse of black sea of and opaque bedeviled by the ravenous serpent of duplicity.

Tormented by the reality that there lied malevolent beasts who could bring his world to ruin, Maddard became silent, even involuntarily holding in his gasps and tears. A growing feeling of capitulation swelled his feeble mind state. He struggled against the overwhelming pressure to fall to his knees. A nauseated feeling rushed throughout him like poison, a numbing sensation had overcome him. His decrepit vision slowly began failing him and a burdening tension twisted and compressed the region of his chest with such wrath and ire. He breathed in heavily like a vacuous suction and then all together he collapsed to the floor, his body limp and lost of its vigor.